I'm posting this in my penname. I finally got internet.

The Evil Laugh does not own Yu-Gi-Oh



^^^^And now...the fic, in Bakura's POV, begins^^^^



Big wheels.like donuts. Ha, donuts supporting a twinkie! Looks like something for a fatty dessert. To bad someone can't just eat the thing and get it done with. Of course, they might be driven away by the smell of petroleum leaking from the engine.



I walk up to the frighteningly yellow bus. No biggie, right? Well, now I must to board the rectangular object slightly resembling a certain Hostess food cake I loath for it's waxy after flavor. Still, not sweat, step up about three stairs and I'm set, eh? Heh, not hardly.



Okay, I hate buses and will not hide this fact. They smell bad and are way too slow. It's like a cage you could never escape. They suffocate you. Especially when you have to sit by other people. I'm not a social person. Loners like their space I suppose. I know I do.



I will hate these buses forever, I suppose. Think of it this way: Drop a cat into water. What does it do? Try to get out the quickest way it possibly can. Even if that happens to bet up a certain person's unprotected arm and face. So, not a violent at the feline, I am almost willing to try anything to NOT have to ride the school's bus. I mean, kids are packed into there like a whole lot a' bloody sardines. There's this inhumane amount of three to a seat made for two or less! Sadly, I'm in one of these. My form practically conforms to the window's hard metal edges. It's because the girl next to me is, no offense [though it's true], HUGE. Seriously; like she'd cover an entire park bench. The one seat alone can't hold her, and I'm expected to just suck it in when she complains about space. Err; she could use some sucking in herself.



Maybe even worst, the one next to her is one snappy little twit. She never stops questioning people. Plus, if you try your damn best to ignore her she'll start insulting you like you were never meant to exist and she has to make you [and everyone else] aware of the fact. If you cave and just begin to answer her degrading never-ending inquisitions, she insults your response. I mean, there is no escaping her sharp gossip trained tongue. She knows [by the popular; story from a girlfriend standard] what's in, what's out, what's queer, what's perverted, and what makes a person better than you [which, by the way, is nothing].



Between the two, I can't decide whom I get along better with. I'll just try to not to know either. Then I won't have to really choose. One could knock me out with a flick of her finger; the other could stamp any reputation and moral achievement I might gain to the ground. Come on, I have an hour on the tin can of a bus; really, I don't deserve this. I DO NOT deserve this.



^^^^And now...the chapter, Bakura's POV, ends^^^^



Hehe, is this funny? I didn't know so.



There is more than one chapter, but, alas, I'm lazy and don't feel like editing them. HA!